Thursday, January 07, 2010

Deg Gud Till Aere, Oss Till Gavn

On my grandfather's side I have a thoroughly Scandinavian heritage, Norwegian and Danish, and like many Americans with Norway in the blood, I occasionally said the popular Norwegian table prayer growing up. I have a little wooden plaque, which belonged to my grandmother, on which it is written:

I Jesu navn går vi til bords
Spise og drikke på dit ord.
Deg Gud till aere, oss till gavn,
Så for vi mat i Jesu navn.


'Bords', table, has an English cognate in 'board' (as in 'room and board'). So, although I'm not fluent in Norwegian, we could perhaps translate as:

In Jesus' name we go to board
to wine and dine as in His word;
to God the glory, to us the gain,
and so we eat in Jesus' name.

Wednesday, January 06, 2010

Always Fight the Zeitgeist

Joe Carter is taking on the torture question:

Do Only Radical Pacifists Oppose Torture?
Thiessen's Catechism on Torture
Torture and Ticking Timebombs: A Christian Ethics Symposium
[ADDED LATER: Thiessen's Catechism on Torture (Part II)]

It always astounds me that there is any dispute here at all, much more that there is so much dispute, and for some of the defenses of these practices I have no patience whatsoever. If there is any topic that shows that Christians concede far, far more to the Zeitgeist than they should, this is one of them. The fundamental fact is that no Christian should ever support doing anything to anyone that they would not support doing to their own brother or sister, unless justice strictly requires it; and even then mercy should have a considerable say. Failure to do this introduces a massive incoherence into Christian life. Speaking about the relation between Christian life and the Zeitgeist, Schlegel in one of his lectures makes a comment that I think is quite appropriate here [Friedrich von Schlegel, The Philosophy of History, James Baron Robertson, tr. Bohn (London: 1846) pp. 474-475]:

Christianity is the emancipation of the human race from the bondage of that inimical spirit who denies God, and, as far as in him lies, leads all created intelligences astray. Hence the Scripture styles him, "the prince of this world;" and so he was in fact, but in ancient history only, when among all the nations of the earth, and amid the pomp of martial glory, and the splendour of Pagan life, he had established the throne of his domination. Since this divine era in the history of man, since the commencement of his emancipation in modern times, this spirit can no longer be called the prince of this world, but the spirit of time [Zeitgeist], the spirit opposed to divine influence, and to the Christian religion, apparent in those who consider and estimate time and all things temporal, not by the law and feeling of eternity, but for temporal interests, or from temporal motives, change, or undervalue it, and forget the thoughts and faith of eternity.


This is the key truth in the old slogan, semper reformanda. In the end there is one and only choice: you are either inspired by the Spirit of the Age, or you are inspired by the Spirit of God. The Spirit of God is the beginning of divine life; but the Spirit of the Age is always the beginning of hell itself, however much it may dress itself up as nobility, or honor, or passion for liberty, or worldly wisdom, or practicality. If you do not measure things by how they look when you love as God loves in Christ, you are not using a Christian measuring stick. It is not an easy standard, and we will fail at times to meet it, but it is the standard to which we are called.

Attila and the Nibelung Gold

Attila the Hun left a major impression on fifth century Europe, invading not only cities and lands but legends as well. He turns out to have a small but very notable role in one of the most important Germannic legend-cycles, the tale of the Nibelungs.

You will remember the basic outline of the story, or at least one version of the story: the great hero Sigurd (Sivard/Siegfried) slays a dragon and comes into possession of its gold, which was cursed long ago by its original owner, Andvari. This gold is the Nibelung gold Soon after he meets Brynhild (Brunnehilde). Here is the first connection to Attila; in the Volsunga Saga, Brynhild is the daughter of a king named Budli. Budli has other children, one of whom is named Atli (Etzel), and is pretty clearly a fictionalized version of Attila. So Brynhild in at least some versions of the story is sister to Attila. She is also a Valkyrie who, having disobeyed Odin on the battlefield, has been doomed to marriage. She is asleep, Sigurd wakes her, they fall in love, and he proposes to her with the most precious part of the treasure, the ring of Andvari, and heads out to make his fortune.

Sigurd comes to the court of King Gjuki. He meets Gjuki's son, Gunnar (Gunther), and they get along famously, but dark things are a-foot. Gjuki is married to a sorceress, Grimhild (Ute), who takes into her mind the notion that Sigurd would make an excellent husband for their daughter, Gudrun (Kriemhild). She arranges for Sigurd to drink a magic potion that makes him forget about Brynhild; Sigurd and Gudrun marry. Grimhild decides it's also a good idea for Gunnar to marry the Valkyrie, but Brynhild is currently in a castle surrounded by flames -- Gunnar can't get to her. Through Grimhild's magic, Sigurd is given Gunnar's appearance and rides through the flame, thus winning the Valkyrie for Gunnar; he takes the ring of Andvari from her. In some legends, however, Brynhild is in the hands not of fate but of politics: Gunnar and his brothers lay siege to one of Atli's castles, and to get them off his back, Atli promises Brynhild in marriage to Gunnar; since Brynhild has sworn to marry only Sigurd, this occasions the deception in question. So here we have Attila again.

For a while things go well enough, but Brynhild and Gudrun eventually begin to quarrel over who has the better husband, and in the heat of argument Gudrun lets slip the fact that it was Sigurd who really rode through the flames, not Gunnar, and that Sigurd has given Gudrun the ring of Andvari. Brynhild is put into a rage fit for a Valkyrie over this; she begins to push Gunnar to kill Sigurd. Gunnar has sworn an oath of brotherhood to Sigurd, but eventually he gets his younger brother, Gutthorm, to kill Sigurd in his sleep, by means of a magic potion that enrages the young man; Sigurd wakes in the process, and his last act is to kill Gutthorm. Brynhild kills Sigurd's three-year-old son and then throws herself on Sigurd's funeral pyre. Solid tragic ending.

But Gudrun yet lives, and she eventually gets married off to Atli himself. Atli ends up killing her brothers, however; apparently if your family is associated with a large quantity of gold people begin to get a bit a greedy. Gudrun in revenge kills the two sons she had had with Atli, Erp and Eitli, and serves them to Atli in a feast. Atli takes sick. Gudrun kills him and burns down his hall, finally trying to kill herself by throwing herself into the sea. The sea, however, does not oblige by killing her and instead carries her to Sweden, where she marries yet again and has children who are involved in other legends entirely. But note that Attila here meets his end by Gudrun's hand.

This is actually closely associated with the stories of the death of Attila. We have two conflicting stories about how Attila died. In one story, found in Priscus, says that Attila died in 453 at a feast celebrating his marriage to Ildico. The Huns were polygamous, so Ildico was probably a new political alliance, perhaps with some line of Goths. In any case, he became so completely drunk he was unconscious, suffered a nosebleed, and choked to death in his own blood. The other story, a few decades later, is that Attila died because he was killed by one of his wives while he slept. No one knows the real answer; either story could easily have been simply made up, and either clearly provides an end to the Scourge of God that, if true, would be a case of poetic irony fit for any narrative. In any case, we see here how the stories about the death of Attila were taken up in the sagas.

I've been thinking about this from havng read Tolkien's The Legend of Sigurd and Gudrún, which is Tolkien's own retelling of the Sigurd and Gudrun tales (dating about the 20s and 30s). While Tolkien was professor of Anglo-Saxon, and thus is best known for his work in Old English, he was also an expert in Old Norse, as well, and had studied the sagas extensively. Taken together, they don't present this particular story in an entirely coherent way, so there was plenty of room for poetic invention. I think he manages to do a very good job at balancing a conservative approach -- no operatic changes -- with sufficient innovation to make the story cohere more completely. Christopher Tolkien provides an extensive apparatus that gets into some of these connections between legend and history.

Tuesday, January 05, 2010

Wicked Grammar

Apparently Mary Daly died recently; she was a well-known feminist theologian who taught at Boston College (a Jesuit college). She was also famous for insisting that she should only have to teach women, not men. Fred Sanders has a quote that is pretty typical of her writing:

We do not use words; we Muse words. Rhymes, alliterations, alteration of senses–all aid in the breaking of fatherland’s fences. Liberation is the work of Wicked Grammar, which is a basic instrument, our Witches’ Hammer. Websters denounce the patriarchal usage of women and nature and of words. We denounce both good usage and bad usage, proclaiming the termination of usage. In this process, words and women guide each other. Our guiding is reciprocal, requited. United, our movements are directed by sagacious Sin-Tactics. Together we work to expel the bore-ocratic chairmen of the bored. We strive to make the world Weirder.


Which is all lovely, but an example of telling, not showing, as was much of Daly's work when it came to empowering women: all program and proclamation and no progress and practical effects. She also had an occasional bad habit of conflating Woman with Mary Daly; her opinions were Woman's opinions, her methods Woman's methods, criticisms of her were criticisms of Woman. For that matter, she more than occasionally conflates Feminist with Mary Daly. I confess that whenever I read her (as I did quite extensively in my undergrad years, because I was interested in feminist writing) I found her for the most part extraordinarily boring. No Helene Cixous or Simone de Beauvoir, she. But some people, I think, found reading her to be a fun way to try out a different view of things. And while her use of language was neither so wicked, nor so innovative, nor even so interesting as she liked to pretend, it has to be admitted that Mary Daly's language has a zest and a life that is sometimes quite striking; as part of a fight against the bore-ocrats (a fight with which I sympathize) it had its moments.

In the Direction of the Palm Gardens

Royalty
by Arthur Rimbaud
(Bertrand Mathieu, tr.)


One fine morning, in a land of extremely gentle people, a very beautiful man and woman called out, quite loud, in a public space: "Dear friends, I want her to be queen!" "And I want to be queen!" She was laughing and trembling. He was telling friends about a revelation, about an ordeal they'd come through. They were weak with happiness.

As a matter of fact, they were royalty for a whole morning, while the houses were covered with bright-red bunting, and for a whole afternoon, while they walked in the direction of the palm gardens.

Sunday, January 03, 2010

Seventh Day of the Month

As I sometimes do at the turn of a New Year, here is a list of the posts on the seventh day of each month of 2009.

January: no post on the seventh day of the month

February: Flowers Preach

March: Sidecar Bar & Grill
Kant and 'Existence Is Not a Real Predicate'
Lenten Giving

April: Chaospet on "The End of Philosophy"
The End of Philosophy?
Clothed with the Wisdom and the Power

May: Clausewitz on the Use of Historical Examples

June: Not Acceptable
Malebranche's Infinity Challenge (Repost)
We Have Not Sighed Deep, Laughed Free

July: Usury and Titles to Interest
Physics and Philosophy

August: Neo-Humean Theology

September: Aquinas on Manual Labor

October: Five Ways of Teaching

November: The Lotus (Part I)

December: Marenbon on 'Aquinas's Principle' (Repost)

Object and Occasion

Pascal Boyer, Religion Explained, Basic Books (New York: 2001), p. 86:

In many places Christians also treat some artifacts as endowed with special powers. People for instance go to a distant place to pray to a particualr Madonna, which means standing in front of an artifact and talking to it. (You may find this description rather crude, and retort that no one is really talking to a man-made object; peple are considering a "symbol" of the Virgin, a "sign" or "representation" of her presence and power. But that is not the case. First, people are really representing the Madonna as an artifact. If I tell them who made it, using what kind of wood and paint, they will find all that information perfectly sensible, as it would be indeed of any other man-made object. Second, it really is the artifact they are addressing. If I proposed to chop the Madonna to pieces because I needed firewood, and suggested that I could replace it with a photograph of the statue or with a sign reading "pray to the Virgin here," they would find that shocking.)


I think the conclusion Boyer is ultimately angling toward here is actually quite right: focusing on the question of representation and setting aside the question of belief (which are independent questions, the latter being rather more complicated, and having a very complicated and rarely straightforward relationship with the former) such cases are clearly cases of representing artifacts as having special powers. But this is a singularly bad argument for this conclusion. If we took Boyer's first point seriously as relevant to the conclusion, this would be as much as to say that there are no signs, symbols, or representations -- pretty much all signs, symbols, or representations are artifacts, so it is irrelevant to whether we are treating something as a sign, symbol, or representation that we represent it as having artifactual features. If I paint a squiggle on a sign to represent water, there is no question that this is an artifact; it is also a sign.

But it's the second point I just find funny. Obviously if you suggest cutting up a Madonna for firewood people will find that shocking, but this in itself tells us nothing. If the local veterans put up a wooden copy of the Marine Corps War Memorial and you suggested cutting it up for firewood, people would be shocked at that, too; but there's nothing to guarantee that people typically represent war memorials as artifacts with cognitive powers, or, indeed, any powers. People are shocked by mistreatment of symbols precisely because they are functioning as symbols. Whether they are shocked by mistreatment does not seem to have any relevance to whether they treat the artifact as an artifact simply or as possessing other-than-artifactual characteristics; but it would have to if it were to function as a sign that the artifact is an object of address rather than merely an occasion of it.

In practice the difference between object and occasion is made in a rather different way. Suppose you and I are interacting via avatars in Second Life or some similar virtual reality program. When I respond to something you say I am addressing your avatar: it is an object of address. It is also an artifact (and, indeed, a sign, symbol, or representation), and in representing the object of my address I am treating it as an artifact with cognitive characteristics -- the cognitive characteristics it displays, which are, of course, yours. I actually address the avatar; it is not merely functioning as an indicator of presence (in the way that, for instance, an instant messaging indicator that you are online). Likewise, it is clear that an icon of Mary is not functioning as a mere indicator that Mary is available or a reminder that she may be addressed, although it may do that as well; this is inconsistent with actual behavior toward the icon. It's the actual behavior involved in the address that is crucial, not the sort of emotional attachment that is the reason for being shocked at the destruction or replacement of the icon; the emotional attachment could be due to the fact that the icon is an object of address, but it could be due to any number of other things as well.